


Were-wuff

by Trish47



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Animal Transformation, Armitage Hux is a Jerk, Dogs, F/M, Financial Issues, Fluff, Foster Care, Harm to animals mentioned, Praise Kink, Silly, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 05:24:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21265769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trish47/pseuds/Trish47
Summary: In which Solo, Rey's trusted (and possibly immortal?) dog, turns into a human under the Harvest Moon.But did the transformation have to happen when he wasn't wearing pants?





	Were-wuff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LostInQueue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostInQueue/gifts).

The concrete holds autumn’s chill; it seeps through her jeans and crawls down her legs. In the places where the denim is ripped and tattered -- from years of wear rather than fashion sense -- gusts of wind reach in to rake her exposed skin with frosty fingers. Beneath her chin, she’s tied the strings of her green hoodie tightly to keep her ears warm.

Rey takes another bite of tonight’s pocket-change meal. Compared to her typical instant ramen, a gas station hot dog should be a treat, but her mind’s too distracted to enjoy it. Despite the char from being on the grill for hours, the footlong lost its heat and any appetizing flavor somewhere between debating whether to pay her student loans or her electric bill this month.

A short, high-pitched whine breaks her gaze away from the mountainous silhouette created by the distant sunset. Her head rolls to the side to look at her companion, finding him sitting on his haunches beside her. “What?”

His dark eyes widen, and his long, upright ears twitch at the acknowledgement. He repeats the whine as if it is a specific request she can understand.

Rey does, of course. Any person could understand _that_ whine paired with _that_ look. Maybe other people would find it pitiful, but the spike lancing through her half-full stomach stems from a different kind of guilt. Solo doesn’t beg unless she’s snagged an overcooked steak from her part-time job at the campus kitchen. Though Rey has done her best, her dog’s bowl has finally started to feel the pinch of her recent financial stress.

“You want this?” Rey squeezes the excess ketchup, mustard, relish, and onion between the soggy bun and rests the remainder of the all-beef frank in the palm of her hand. Solo doesn’t move to take it, only stares and waits for his next command. “What’s your trade?”

His front paw rises and lands on her knee, claws curving just slightly into her flesh. In another blink, it returns to the ground.

Rey gets the message. “Okay, a shake it is.”

Resting her bun and wrapper on the sidewalk, she angles herself and holds out her free hand. Solo fills it with his heavy paw and they shake on the deal. “Good shake,” she praises with a smile. “Good dog.”

Exchange made, she holds up her end of the bargain and offers him the hot dog she probably wouldn’t have finished anyway. Solo’s teeth barely graze her palm as he takes it from her hand. He drops the half-eaten frank on the ground and begins chewing furiously. Five seconds and two swallows later, the hot dog is history. He pushes his cold, wet nose into her hand, licking it of any traces as his tail wags in a circle.

Rey chuffs softly as his massive frame -- all the hulk of an English Mastiff paired with the ears and long, thick coat of a German Shepherd -- makes her topple backward. He takes advantage of the position and passes several licks over her exposed cheeks, nudging her head with his nose as she devolves into giggles and gasps.

“Stop!” she cries, covering her face with her hands so he can’t find any more crumbs.

Solo obeys, backing up several feet but still wagging his tail. He dances on the pavement as Rey stands and brushes herself off, casually sliding her hands between her jeans and underwear to rub the chill from her backside. Everything is numb.

“C’mon,” she says, looking up at the darkening sky. The Harvest Moon is just beginning its climb, every now and then peeking from behind the clouds. “Let’s head home before it’s pitch black out. I don’t want to lose you.”

It’s a joke between them, though Rey is the only one who finds it clever. Solo’s midnight fur is streaked with silver, especially on his snout and chest. One of his paws has a silver sock. If it was any other dog, Rey would guess the highlights were a sign of age, but that’s the thing: Solo’s age eludes her. Always has.

As a young girl, she’d found him in an alley, tied inside the Dumpster she’d chosen for her latest dive. Her foster siblings had taught her early on the best place to look for more food or new clothes was in the trash others abandoned. It was free, and the random, perfectly useful, things people threw away always surprised Rey.

She’d certainly been alarmed at finding a near two hundred pound dog in the bin that blustery October night. He’d snapped at her when she hopped down from the lip of the container, but Rey had forgiven him immediately. After all, he’d clearly been mistreated by whomever had left him there to die. Any creature, human or otherwise, would be wary of strangers.

“It’s okay,” she’d told him, crouching precariously on top of the trash bags. “I’m a friend. I can help you.” He’d sniffed her outstretched hand, and Rey had taken it as a sign of dubious trust. She’d carefully scratched beneath his chin. “See? I’m not going to hurt you.”

He’d growled as she’d untied him, but as soon as the ropes were unknotted, the grumbling ceased. Balancing on the trash heap, he’d stared at her long and hard with his dark, expressive eyes. As she’d grown up, Rey had often wondered if it was that moment he imprinted on her.

Solo has followed her ever since: he used to sleep on the porches of her foster homes spread across the city, always finding her shortly after a relocation; he walked, leashless, to and from the school bus stop with her; when she signed her first lease last year, a dog bed and water bowl were the first furnishings for her new apartment. After spending years never being allowed inside at night, Solo -- named after a red Solo brand cup she’d found for him to drink from that long ago night -- her best friend could finally sleep beside her. Snuggling with him had made the sleeping bag she used during her first month of residence worth it.

They had each other. To Rey, that was all that mattered.

* * *

Solo goes ahead of her as Rey carries her bike up the five flights of stairs. The elevator’s been broken for months, and maintenance says the whole unit will need replaced -- something this building’s landlord won’t shell out the money to do. At the top, she’s winded and so focused on finding her key, she doesn’t notice the other door on her landing crack open.

Solo presses his side against her leg, herding her toward the door. She can feel the vibration of his growl in her thigh, though it’s so low she can’t hear it. “What is it, boy?”

“Long night?”

Rey wheels at the sound of her neighbor’s voice. It’s accented like hers, but it’s like listening to nails on a chalkboard whenever he speaks. There are a lot of minor complaints she has about living in this sad excuse of an apartment building: Hux is her only major one.

“Yeah,” Rey says, feigning politeness only because she can’t afford to move out of this place for another year or more. She’s trying to not make an enemy of the guy across the hall, though it is starting to prove an impossible task. Faking a yawn, she turns the knob. “Heading to bed early.”

He leers at her in a way that makes her skin itch. “So early? Rey, Rey, Rey. You need a man who will help you stay awake longer.”

Patience already worn from her empty pockets and expensive troubles, Rey doesn’t have the energy to put up with Hux’s particular brand of creepy, misogynistic come-ons tonight. She pushes the door open and states, “The only man I need is right here. C’mon, Solo.”

“That old fleabag has to expire one of these days.”

Her temper flares. Rey all but tosses her bike into the aparment’s entryway, then pivots back to the red-headed arse behind her. “Are you threatening my dog?”

Solo’s growls grow stronger. If she broke her death glare away from Hux, she’s sure she’d see bared teeth and raised hackles.

Hux doesn’t get the message. His hand boldly grasps her upper arm, thumb rubbing over her sweatshirt. “I’m only trying to show you, you need someone. You’re lonely, Rey. I can feel it. But you don’t have to be.”

“Drop it.”

“What?”

“Drop it. My arm.” She wrenches her arm away when he continues to hold on. “This infatuation you have with me has to stop, Hux. You’re not gaining anything from me but my disgust.”

A hand begins to fly up, preparing to slap her, but the movement is cut off before she can attempt to block the strike. Strong jaws clamp down on the offending appendage, preventing it from landing on its target and nearly dragging Hux to the floor.

“Ah!” Hux squeals. “You little piece of--”

“Drop it,” Rey calls out firmly. In an instant, Solo spits Hux’s hand out of his mouth and comes to sit at Rey’s side. Rey doesn’t pay any attention to her neighbor’s curse-laden mutterings. Instead, she comments, “See, Hux? Even an ‘old fleabag’ can understand the concept.”

She backs into her apartment while watching Hux grasp his injured hand and seethe with contempt for both of them. Solo lumbers into the apartment after her. With a loud bang, she closes the door, then proceeds to lock the slew of deadbolts she installed. Once she’s done, she leans on the door and sighs.

Perhaps sensing her irritation, Solo lets loose a low _ruff_ to gain her attention. She smiles down at him, then kneels and draws him in for a long hug. Her nose roots through his soft black fur, breathing in his familiar, comforting scent. “You know you’re the only one I need, right?” she whispers into his shoulder. “I’m not lonely when you’re with me.” Her hands grip more firmly into his silky coat, doing her best to push Hux’s words away. “You’re not going to leave me, are you?”

Solo presses forward as if he could hug her himself. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but this would be silly to cry over, right? He’s not leaving her. He would never leave her.

“You’re the best,” she tells him, pulling back to look him in the eyes. “You bit that mean man. Good boy, Solo. Good, good boy.”

Solo’s next bark is louder. His tail wags, and when Rey stands, he hops up and down as much as his bulk will allow. He leads her toward the tiny galley kitchen with a clear objective in mind.

Rey laughs, follows, and digs out the last Milk-Bone from the cardboard box in her pantry. “I’ve been saving this for a special occasion,” she tells him. “And tonight you’ve earned it.”

Solo’s butt wiggles on the kitchen’s dingy laminate flooring, unable to sit still. It’s been a good while since she reached for the treat box. It may be even longer before she can restock and give him all the treats he really deserves.

* * *

After her nightly shower, the apartment feels a solid ten degrees colder than when Rey walked in. It’s nearly November. Maine's brief autumn has essentially come and gone, blanketing the area with the first signs of winter. Turning on the heat -- if only to save her pipes from freezing -- has to happen sooner rather than later, but paying her electric bill is hard enough as it is right now. Once she’s done working on Unkar’s crappy Pontiac, she’ll have a small buffer to work with; until then, her solution to keeping warm is to pile every single blanket she owns on top of her bed and burrow beneath them.

Though he may be a dog and covered in fur, Rey doesn't want to leave Solo out in the cold. He needs some extra insulation, too. As she changes from her bathrobe into her pajamas, she pulls an old sweater from her bottom drawer. She pats the side of her leg and clicks her tongue to get him to come to her.

He eyes the sweater with cautious curiosity. “Easy, boy,” she says as she slips the neckline over his head. “I just don’t want you to freeze.”

Her sweater barely fits over his barrel-like chest; the knit gives just enough for her to pull his legs through the armholes. She tugs the hem over his back, smoothing out the bulky wrinkles as she goes.

“You look so handsome in blue,” she remarks, scratching him behind the ears. “Nice and warm?”

Solo sneezes his agreement, then spins in place twice, looking for the best area to settle down. He goes over and scratches at his bed, looking back at her with an imploring expression.

Rey rolls her eyes at his antics as she climbs into bed. Sometimes she thinks he's more intelligent and persuasive than half her classmates.

"No other dude can convince me to sleep with him so easily," she jokes, flipping back the cover and patting the empty spot on her mattress. “C’mon. I need the extra warmth tonight anyway.”

He jumps up on the bed without another word, curving himself into her body and finding his natural place at her side. It’s not the first -- or even the tenth -- time they’ve shared a bed. The truth is, they both sleep better when they’re sharing the same space.

Rey tosses the covers over both of them, wrapping her arm around the middle of his body. Her fingers fan out until she finds a patch of fur instead of sweater. Stroking the spot on the front of his chest, she mumbles her usual goodnight: “Love you, Solo.”

The Harvest Moon’s yellow-tinted glow shines softly across the covers as they fall asleep together, moonlight stretching longer and longer over their figures.

In the wee hours, Rey wakes to incessant nudging and muffled _whuffs_. Puppy dreams. She smiles as she wonders what he might be chasing this time. Cute as it is, she needs a few more hours of solid rest, so she slides her arm over the sweater, thinking to wake him gently from his dreams.

The sweater feels odd. Taut. At first she thinks it might have gotten caught under his body, so she gives it a short tug. It’s so tight, there is no give left. More alarming, though, is that she can’t feel any fur beneath it -- only smooth, hard skin.

Rey freezes. What or _who_ is she touching? Solo is her best defense since she keeps her security baseball bat by the front door. Would he have let an intruder sneak into her room and climb into bed with her without a sound?

The only reason that would ever happen is if something bad had happened to him first. The very thought of her trusted companion in trouble or worse makes her throat close up and her heart race.

When her courage peaks, her cry breaks free: “Solo!”

The person beside her rouses immediately at the sound, scrambling upright. Rey searches for any usable weapon around her, but comes up empty-handed. She needs to start keeping a frying pan next to her bed.

The man -- the figure is undoubtedly male -- spins on his hands and knees. . .barking furiously. Rey shouts and tumbles out of bed while trying to put distance between her and this lunatic who has invaded her space and done God knows what to her dog. The blankets catch her as she falls from the mattress, slowing her descent to the floor. She’s tangled in a massive lump of mismatched fleece and flannel sheets, unable to move.

The man quits barking and positions himself on the edge of the mattress, peering down at her and cocking his head in a curious way. His dark hair is shaggy, reaching past his ears and falling across his eyes as he looks at her with concern. If Rey didn’t believe eyes are the windows to the soul -- or remember the very specific tear on the front of her old sweater -- she couldn’t have believed what she’s seeing:

“Solo?”


End file.
